


Born a Person

by Rococoa



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rococoa/pseuds/Rococoa
Summary: For Bean, for the holiday gift exchange. Happy New Year ! :)Holden has minor surgery and Bill's driving him home afterward.  Turns out anesthesia makes Holden talkative.  Things take a turn.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 175





	Born a Person

Bill has strayed into a time warp.

It is the only possible explanation. According to the clock at Mary Washington Hospital, he’s been waiting ninety minutes, but he could swear it has actually been several days. He watches other people come and go from the waiting room, departing with drugged-up friends or relations in tow, and wonders what on earth is taking so long. 

He finally manages to corner a nurse. “Can you give me any update on Holden Ford? I was supposed to pick him up at four.”

“Sorry for the wait,” she apologizes. “He’s having some trouble waking up.”

Worry pinches at Bill’s heart. “Is he all right?”

“Oh yes, the surgery went according to plan. He’s just a bit slow shaking off the anesthesia. Some people are more sensitive to it than others.”

Bill can believe it. Holden can’t even take cold medicine unless he has the next ten hours free to sleep it off.

The whole debacle began two weeks earlier when, while leaving a prison interview in Wisconsin, Holden slipped on a patch of black ice and fell hard on his outstretched arm. Bill was all set to tease him, until he saw Holden’s face crease with pain as he clutched his shoulder.

The doctor at the ER had good news and bad news. Holden's shoulder wasn’t broken or dislocated; he’d torn cartilage, however, so he would have pain and limited range of motion until a surgeon could go in and clean out the damaged tissue. 

“It’s usually day surgery,” the doctor reassured them. “You can schedule it locally once you’re back in Virginia. You go in first thing in the morning, and you’re back in your own bed before nightfall. In the meantime, we’ll set you up with a sling and an anti-inflammatory.”

It’s been a long two weeks. Holden can’t do any field work until he heals, and Bill can’t do any field work without a partner. They passed the days stranded in the office while Holden sighed and moped and laboriously pecked out transcripts with his one good hand, the electric typewriter clicking away as relentlessly as a dripping tap.

Holden’s surgery fell on he same day as Debbie’s last midterm, so Holden shyly asked Bill if he could drive him home from the hospital. “I would call a taxi, but they won’t let me leave unless I have someone, you know, actually pick me up. Debbie’ll come stay with me once her exam is finished,” he hastened to add. “I just need a ride back to my apartment.” The look on his face was like he was asking for the moon. 

Which is why Bill’s been sitting in the waiting room of the day surgery clinic at for two hours on this rainy February afternoon, waiting for Holden to rouse sufficiently to be taken home. 

He finally sees the kid shuffling down the hall, a nurse guiding him by the elbow. He’s wearing a hospital gown with pants underneath, and his left arm is secured against his torso with a bulky black sling. His hair looks deranged.

“Your friend’s here to pick you up,” the nurse tells him.

Holden blinks. “But wha’bout the op’ration?” he slurs at her.

“You already had your operation,” she explains patiently, in a voice that suggests she’s told him this before. “It went very well, remember? Now you’re going home.”

The kid blinks slowly at Bill, dazed. His pupils are enormous. “Bill? What’re you doing here?”

“Bill’s taking you home now. He’s just a little confused, he’ll be all right,” she assures Bill. She retrieves Holden’s coat from a nearby rack and drapes it over his shoulders. “Bye, Holden.”

“Goodbye, thank you for being so nice to me,” Holden garbles, and pulls her into a hug with his good arm. Bill eases him off and reattaches him to his own arm. “Come on, dopey. Let’s go.”

“You’re a good frien’ Bill,” Holden declares as Bill manhandles him into the elevator. Bill hangs onto him by the back of his gown and steers him out through the revolving doors and onto the street.

The rain and cold have a stimulating effect on Holden; by the time they finish the short walk to the car, he’s already more coherent and walking in a straighter line. Bill buckles him into the passenger seat. “Just sleep, OK, kid? You’ll be home soon.”

“It’s cold,” Holden complains. 

“I know. Just sit tight.” Bill climbs in behind the wheel and starts the ignition. He cranks the heater to full blast.

Holden is silent as Bill exits the parking lot and merges into the evening rush-hour traffic – asleep, Bill thinks. He jumps in surprise and nearly rear-ends a Volkswagen when Holden suddenly speaks.

“Did Wendy miss me?”

“Jesus, Holden, it’s been one day. If anything, she enjoyed the quiet.”

“You should be nice to me.”

“Who’s driving your ass home as we speak?”

“I was injured in the line of duty.”

“You slipped on ice.”

“In the line of duty.”

“I’m sure you’ll receive your medal any day now.”

Bill rolls his eyes, but Holden’s distracted by something outside his window. “Aww, look at the puppy,” he croons. On the sidewalk, an old lady with a plastic rain bonnet is walking a small dog in a little yellow slicker. “It’s wearing a raincoat, just like people!"

“I love dogs so much, Bill, I really do,” he concludes happily, and leans his head back against the seat.

“Yeah? Did you have one as a kid?” Bill can’t resist. It is kind of funny, after all; Holden, for once, with his guard down, saying whatever pops into his head. And he knows so little of Holden’s life before the FBI. Every time the subject comes up, a wall goes up behind Holden's eyes, and he's either evasive or stonewalls outright.

Holden shakes his head sadly. “No dogs. I have allergies.”

“Tough luck.”

“I had hermit crabs, though. I built them a maze for a science project once.” Holden giggles. Literally giggles. “I discovered that crabs won’t run mazes.”

Bill suppresses a snicker. “What grade did they give you for that?”

“Pfft. A discovery’s a discovery.” A few moments’ pause. “I used to catch snakes, too.”

“Jesus, Holden, snakes?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“They’re snakes.”

“Snakes are great. If I was a snake instead of a person, I wouldn’t’ve hurt my shoulder on the ice.”

“Yes, a lot of things would be different if you were a snake,” Bill agrees. He wishes he’d brought the tape recorder. 

“I found a bunch of baby garter snakes once. Did you know that snakes hatch already knowing how to do everything they’ll ever need to do to stay alive?” 

“You don’t say.”

“The mother lays her eggs and just fucks off, and bingo-bango, a bunch of baby snakes just hatch and go off to be snakes.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s so complicated to be born a person,” Holden says slowly, and there’s suddenly such a depth of sorrow in his voice that Bill’s guts go cold. It’s not funny anymore. He has the sense of standing on thin ice that barely glazes the surface of something black and dangerous. He's made a miscalculation – there’s a reason for Holden's stubborn self-containment. Bill wishes he would stop talking.

“You can’t do anything at first. Helpless. You need your parents for everything, and you know you need them for everything.” Holden turns to Bill with hooded eyes. “Makes it a problem when they’d rather just lay their eggs and fuck off.” 

The ice crackles.

"You should try to sleep,” Bill tells him compassionately.

“I could never figure out what I did so wrong, other than being born a person.”

“Go to sleep.”

Holden leans his head against the window. The fog on the glass pulses with his breath. Rain and tail lights and traffic signals smear everything with colour. Some silent minutes pass.

“Did you miss me today?”

“Yes, Holden, I missed you today,” Bill says tenderly, and it’s not a lie. “Go to sleep now.”

Holden does.

He’s quiet as Bill gently shakes him awake and escorts him upstairs to his apartment. He's essentially out on his feet, and Bill has to half-carry him just to keep him upright and moving forward. 

Debbie pounces as soon as they're through the door; she’s just arrived from her exam and she's anxious because they're late. When Bill explains, she gives him a knowing smile. "Aw, Holden. Come here," she says fondly, peeling him off of Bill. “I’ve got it from here. Thanks for doing this, Bill.” And just like that, he's dismissed.

Holden's off work for a week recuperating, and when he finally returns, arm still immobilized against his side, he looks good. Rested. Better than he has in a long time, actually, Bill thinks.

He tenses up when he sees Bill though, and he fastidiously avoids eye contact all though the morning meeting. After Wendy retires to her office, he finally creeps tentatively over to Bill's desk. 

“Hey Bill, about the other night, after the surgery… Debbie said I was pretty out of it, and I don’t remember much, and I just wondered – did I say anything… strange while you were driving me home?”  
Holden’s eyes are wide, and he rubs his thumbs and fingers together anxiously.

A beat passes.

“No, you pretty much just slept.”

A huge breath gushes from Holden’s chest. “Okay. Good… I mean, thank you, Bill, for picking me up. I really appreciate it, I know it was a bother.”

“No bother, glad I could help. Oh, and Holden?”

“Yes?”

“Welcome back. Everyone missed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic! Feedback is welcome.


End file.
